


been going crazy

by kopycat_101



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: 5+1 Things, Adorable Marc Anciel, And Marc being lowkey Thirsty, Art Club, Awkward Crush, Awkward Flirting, Awkwardness, Banter, Bisexual Disaster Nathaniel Kurtzberg, Bisexual Nathaniel Kurtzberg, Blushing, Crushes, Cute, Cute Kids, Dirty Thoughts, Dorks, Flirting, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Freckles, Gay Disaster Marc Anciel, Gay Marc Anciel, Gay Panic, He thirsts less than Marc but he Does get thirsty, He's named Mr. Carracci after the famous Italian Baroque painter, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Innuendo, Kim Max and Nino are in the Art Club because I love them, M/M, Male Friendship, Male-Female Friendship, Marc is Super Gay and Repressed and that's Canon, Nathaniel is smitten by Marc and thirsts over him, Pining, Popsicles, Pre-Slash, Rain, Slash, Summer, Teen Crush, Teen Romance, Teenagers, The art teacher is back in small cameos bc I love making him supportive of the boys, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Wingman Alix Kubdel, Wingman Marinette Dupain-Cheng, rated t for teens swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-05
Updated: 2020-10-10
Packaged: 2021-03-05 06:08:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25079665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kopycat_101/pseuds/kopycat_101
Summary: Marc almost feels like he’s some sort of repressed Victorian era noblewoman. If he sees an ankle, he might just need to buy a fainting couch.The fact of the matter is this: Every time he sees even ahintmore of Nathaniel’s skin than what’s usual, his mind shuts down.(Or: The five times Marc becomes a flustered gay mess even with Nathaniel’s modest clothing choices, and one time Nathaniel’s a mess over Marc. 5+1 MarcNath)
Relationships: Alix Kubdel & Lê Chiến Kim, Alix Kubdel & Nathaniel Kurtzberg, Art Teacher (Miraculous Ladybug) & Everyone, Juleka Couffaine/Rose Lavillant, Marc Anciel & Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug, Marc Anciel & Nathaniel Kurtzberg, Marc Anciel/Nathaniel Kurtzberg, Max Kanté/Lê Chiến Kim, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 54
Kudos: 150
Collections: MarcNath Fics!





	1. Five Things

**Author's Note:**

> So, I haven't wrote a 5+1 fic in my entire life. But since all I write nowadays is MarcNath, I decided to do it with them.
> 
> This was in part inspired by this tumblr post: https://mexicancat-girl.tumblr.com/post/622750830987247617/saucefactory-that-feel-when-a-character-that  
> It just felt like it fit Marc perfectly.
> 
> This fic got a bit long (which is no surprise), so I'm posting the +1 part as a second chapter.

* * *

“ _Need you so much, somehow,_

_I can’t forget you,_

_Been going crazy,_

_From the moment I met you_.”

* * *

One:

* * *

Marc knows he’s a disaster of epic proportions.

Hard not to notice, when he has enough anxiety for ten people, and his brain short-circuits when he’s even _thinking_ about his crush, much less when he’s around him.

Marc’s been able to beat back his disaster gay tendencies, slowly but surely. He doesn’t go completely catatonic saying hello to Nathaniel anymore, and can sit down next to him without wanting to die and overthink every little movement.

So, yeah! Marc’s getting there! He’s getting better at the whole ‘hiding your big gay crush on your friend’ thing!

…Except, when he’s not.

Today wasn’t even really much out of the ordinary. Marc went to the Art Club room, said hi to everyone, and sat in his usual space. Except Nathaniel got out a set of charcoal pencils to sketch on the sketchbook he reserved for his art classes’ projects. Marc had to move over a bit to give the artist proper space, especially since the sketchbook took up a lot of room on their worktable.

“Remember, it’s important to draw from your arm rather than your wrist when you do these drills,” Mr. Carracci gently instructs, having seen the production and wandered to their table to help. “And be careful with your sleeves as well, since—”

“—charcoal likes to get _everywhere_ ,” Nathaniel says in perfect harmony with the art teacher, nodding along and smiling. “Thanks, Mr. Carracci. I’ll remember this time.”

“Good. I don’t want you ruining that favorite jacket of yours,” the teacher says warmly, eyes crinkled and kind, nodding at the sports jacket Nathaniel habitually wears. “If you need any other help, just ask, alright?”

“Will do!” Nathaniel chirps. Marc can’t help but smile at the joy and respect on Nathaniel’s face, his enthusiasm clear and shining bright for all to see.

When Mr. Carracci retreats from their table, the man catches Marc’s eye and gives a knowing, paternal smile. The writer flusters, smiling back automatically before quickly turning back to survey Nathaniel.

The problem for Marc starts when Nathaniel does as Mr. Carracci advised, rolling up the cuffs of his jacket a bit so the cloth didn’t drape past his wrists.

Marc can’t ever think of a time where he’s seen Nathaniel’s wrists exposed before. He’s always wearing his jacket, the sleeves fully rolled down.

They’re very pale; almost dainty, even.

Marc’s seen the scattering of tiny freckles over the other’s knuckles before—knows those little spots very well—but it looks like there’s a few freckles leading from the back of the hand to the inside of the arm as well. One particularly large freckle dots Nathaniel’s left inner wrist, right over the pulse point.

Marc can’t help the sudden thought of picking up Nathaniel’s hand, and kissing his wrist, right over that one particular freckle. His face burns hot at the thought, feeling like he’s going to combust at any second.

Thankfully enough, Nathaniel is very intent on sketching. His arm all but flies over the page, as he draws simple geometrical shapes and then transforms them into 3D shapes, then adds quick hatch-marks for shading.

The sight is amazing. Nathaniel’s arm arcing, the swiftness of his strokes, how the page quickly fills with so many shapes. It’s mesmerizing to watch.

The flashes of pale wrist every time he flicks it are also very riveting.

After a timer chimes from Nathaniel’s phone, he sets down his sketchbook with a pleased grin, clicking off the alarm. “Five minutes, and I’ve managed to almost fill the page! Not bad,” the redhead muses, tugging his bangs behind his ears. His blue eyes glimmer as they dart about the sketchbook, analyzing it. “Could still use some work, but I’ve definitely loosened up.”

Marc feels almost sad, watching as Nathaniel carefully wipes his hands on a rag, and then unrolls his jacket sleeves again. It’s a sign that he’s done drawing in this new and kinetic way.

Not to mention, Marc won’t exactly be seeing those very pale and pretty wrists any time soon…

He shakes his head to rid himself of the strange thought. He’s just sad he won’t see Nathaniel draw with more charcoal, that’s all! Really.

Biting his lip slightly, Marc scooches over on the table to get a closer look at Nathaniel’s sketchbook. “So, um, is there a reason you drew shapes? And for fives minutes? What’s this about ‘loosening up’?”

Nathaniel beams at him, before going on a bit of a gushing rant about the importance of practice and drawing from the wrist and timed drawing drills. Marc listens intently, letting Nathaniel’s enthusiasm for his craft fill him and soothe him, like a bubbling and refreshing freshwater spring.

* * *

Two:

* * *

Marc checks his phone for the sixth time, feeling his nerves get the best of him.

Nathaniel had asked for Marc to meet him in the park instead of at school. Something about how today seemed nice enough to go out for a bit, and since all they were doing was looking over their progress on the comic, there wasn’t any pressure to write or draw further.

“ _We could have a short day today_ ,” Nathaniel had said, with a sunny smile. “ _I think we’ve been working hard so far. We deserve a bit of a break, right?_ ”

The writer had agreed right away, feeling both happy and touched that Nathaniel had thought Marc was doing well—that they were doing well _together_.

Not that Marc didn’t enjoy working with Nathaniel—because he very much did so, it was what he looked forwards to pretty much every day—but a break seemed nice. The only problem was that it seemed to be taking Nathaniel an awfully long while to get here…

Marc checks the time. It was ten minutes passed the time Nathaniel had told them to meet at the park.

Since he was so antsy and paranoid, Marc had gotten to the park a little more than five minutes before the time. So he’s been waiting for fifteen minutes in increasingly anxious silence.

His thoughts were starting to spiral, slowly but surely, doubts filtering in. What if Nathaniel changed his mind? What if…What if this was a set-up? And Nathaniel never shows up at all? What if he’s back in the Art Club room and complaining about how dumb and useless Marc was—

“Marc! Hey…!” a familiar voice called, blowing away all his errant and negative thoughts. Marc snaps his head up at the sound, looking over.

Nathaniel was grinning wide, jogging over to him. In both hands, the other boy held a popsicle each.

“Sorry for being late, but I thought you’d like a popsicle while we looked at our stuff,” Nathaniel explains, through his panting breaths. “S’hot out, and this could help cool us down.”

“Oh! You didn’t need to do that,” Marc blusters, face warming in a flustered blush. Nathaniel was so sweet and thoughtful…! “B-But thank you! That’s really nice of you.”

“’Course,” the redhead says, flashing him a toothy grin, causing Marc’s heart to trip in his chest. “Here, I’ve got strawberry and blueberry. Which one’d you like?”

Marc hums, looking between the two choices. He was a fan of both, but…

“Um, blueberry, please,” he says haltingly.

Nathaniel is quick to hand over the popsicle, Marc very careful in grabbing the wooden stick. Even still, their hands brush. Marc jolts and nearly drops his popsicle, fumbling a bit. Thankfully, his popsicle stays in his hand.

“S-Sorry,” he stutters, quick to duck his head and bring the treat to his mouth before he could embarrass himself further by going into a blubbering mess of apologies. After a second, he remembers to add, “Thanks.”

“No problem,” Nathaniel chuckles, quickly bringing up his popsicle to lick at the side, before any of the melted treat could land on his hand. “It’s weird how hot it got today…”

The redhead sighs, tilting his head back slightly. He shoves at his shirt collar, using it to fan himself. Marc is blessed with the sight of Nathaniel’s collarbones. _Wow_ does he have nice collarbones. And a nice neck connected to said collarbones.

Marc fights down a blush and closes his eyes, feeling long-suffering because _why is he like this_.

His big gay brain is going haywire over _collarbones_ , of all things. Though they looked smooth, pale, and elegant…

He busies himself with licking at his popsicle. Maybe if he keeps his mouth busy, it’ll help combat the urge to lick at Nathaniel’s collarbones. Hopefully.

* * *

He’s frustratingly distracted as they sit on a bench and enjoy their popsicles.

Nathaniel props his sketchbook open between them, careful to keep his popsicle away from the pages so it wouldn’t drip and ruin anything, pointing out the page layouts of their comic and explaining certain dialogue or plot points.

In-between doing that, the redhead swipes at his bangs, or tugs at his t-shirt to fan himself. Or worse yet, licks at his red lips, which are quickly reddening from the popsicle he’s eating. Marc keeps his eyes firmly anchored to the open sketchbook as much as possible. If he watches Nathaniel eating a popsicle for anything longer than two-second increments, he is going to literally _die_.

Marc finishes his own popsicle quicker, keeping his mouth busy so he won’t accidentally blurt anything incriminating out to his crush. He even crunches through the last of the popsicle around the stick, chewing on the treat like he likes chewing ice cubes.

“Did you just _chomp your popsicle_ …?!” he hears Nathaniel sputter.

Marc blinks, looking up at the redhead, who’s staring back at him in mingled horror and awe. “Y…Yes?” the writer asks, a bit confused. “There wasn’t much left of it anyways?”

“But…But what about your teeth? Don’t you get that thing where it’s too cold to chew?” Nathaniel half-asks half-demands.

“I mean, not really…? I chew on ice all the time, so it doesn’t really bother me or anything—”

“Seriously?! You madman!” Nathaniel laughs, seemingly delighted. “It’s like you’re…I dunno, like a goat.”

“Why would eating ice remind you of a goat…?” Marc blinks, squinting confusedly over at his crush.

“It’s less about the ice and more about, like…the fact that goats chew on things all the time,” the other gestures at the air with his hand in explanation, before he shrugs.

Marc is just about to push the issue of how exactly he reminded Nathaniel of a goat, of all things—not that he hated goats or anything, they were actually pretty cute!—but then he’s distracted. He sees the rapidly deteriorating popsicle still in Nathaniel’s hand that was seemingly reenacting the sinking of the Titanic off the stick.

“Um… Your popsicle’s sort of melting…” he points out lamely.

“Aw, crap!” Nathaniel yelps, quick to bring the stick to his mouth to lap up the rivulets of melted, sugary liquid. It takes just a few seconds for him to seemingly realize that it’s a lost cause. With a grimace, the redhead bites off the last bit of popsicle, no way in saving it without making himself a total mess.

“Urgh, it feels so _weird_ ,” Nathaniel mutters through the hand over his mouth, after a few seconds of chewing. When he drops his hand, he goes on with a perturbed, “How you can do this all the time, I dunno…”

“I like the crunch,” Marc answers, with faux seriousness. His eyes are quickly pulled to the droplet of popsicle juice sliding down into Nathaniel’s t-shirt collar. “Y-You have a little, um…”

“Huh? Where?” Nathaniel blinks at him frowning. Marc gestures helplessly at his shirt collar. “Wait, did I get some on my shirt?!”

“N-No, it, um. It went down. The collar,” Marc manages to bite out stiffly.

Nathaniel quickly yanks down his shirt collar, once more showing Marc his collarbones. With a swipe of his knuckles, the droplet was smeared away.

Marc could only wonder helplessly if Nathaniel’s collarbones would taste faintly of strawberry if—

He snapped his eyes back down to the sketchbook, his brain rebooting itself. _Nope_. He wasn’t going there. He _wasn’t_. His brain was just making everything harder on himself and he is _not_ a fan.

“So, what do you think of the mock pages?” Nathaniel asks, sitting back down and rubbing his hands on his skinny jeans.

“I-I think they need some more collarbo—um! C-color!” Marc manages to bluster out, giving a nervous laugh. “B-But they look great so far! Th-the scenes look dynamic, and, and I think we’ve hit a-all the story beats we w-wanted for this issue…”

Marc peers up through his lashes cautiously at Nathaniel, hoping he hasn’t offended the other. He’s thankful to see a wide, pleased grin on his partner’s face.

“Great…!” Nathaniel says brightly, clapping his hands together. “Next step is finalizing everything then!”

Marc smiles at him cautiously. “Y-Yeah. Um…Do you want to talk about next issue’s plot tomorrow…?”

“Definitely,” the redhead nods, a promise.

* * *

Three:

* * *

Marc knew he was going to be a worse disaster than usual, being invited over to Nathaniel’s house to work on their comic. Hell, it was a miracle he didn’t outright pass out when Nathaniel had casually offered that they work up in his bedroom.

They ended up camped out in the dining room, but still. Marc was in his crush’s _house_. This was a Big Deal, at least to him.

So, Marc already had the feeling he wasn’t going to be exactly thinking straight—both in a literal and metaphorical sense—but boy howdy he didn’t expect his mind to stop functioning so quickly into their work session.

He’s lasted one whole hour. Whether that was a good or bad timeframe was yet to be seen.

But already, Marc’s barely keeping himself from slamming his head against a nearby surface. Preferably the table he’s sitting at, though that might disturb his partner…

Really, though. He needs to snap out of it. His wandering thoughts are becoming a bit of a problem. Marc skitters his eyes over to Nathaniel, who’s innocent as can be, inking up one of their comic’s pages by hand.

Five minutes ago, Nathaniel had stretched, and Marc managed to see a flash of pale stomach as his shirt rode up slightly. And that small stretch of skin—probably no more than an inch sliver— was all Marc’s been able to think about since.

Marc almost feels like he’s some sort of repressed Victorian era noblewoman. If he sees an ankle, he might just need to buy a fainting couch.

The fact of the matter is this: Every time he sees even a _hint_ more of Nathaniel’s skin than what’s usual, his mind shuts down.

When Summer rolls around and swimming inevitably comes up, Marc is going to literally _die_ when he sees Nathaniel in a swimsuit, he’s sure…

But that was an issue for Future Marc to deal with. Right now, he’s suffering.

Not only had he seen Nathaniel’s stomach—which looked so pale and smooth and cute and _wow_ , he was dying here— the sounds of bone-deep pleasure the redhead had made when his spine popped would _not_ leave his skull. They were _way_ too sensual for just plain old stretching, and they were a detriment to Marc’s continued health and wellbeing.

Though maybe Marc’s crush was just magnifying every little thing Nathaniel did…

Either way, Marc felt restless. And his mouth felt uncomfortably dry.

“Um…I-I’m going to go get some water,” the writer says tentatively as he carefully closes his notebook.

Nathaniel instantly looks up at him. "Oh! No, I can go get it,” the redhead is quick to offer, “You’re a guest, and I’m feeling thirsty too. Hold on—”

“I-It’s fine! I don’t want to bother you…”

But all he could do was sit and watch dumbly as Nathaniel stretches long and languidly. The other’s shirt rode up a good two—no, three— inches.

Nathaniel had an innie-type bellybutton. Marc lets out a little wheeze, fingers scrambling to clutch onto the edge of the table, knuckles white with tension.

Casually and oblivious to Marc’s internal crisis, the redhead stands. “You good with just water? I think we also have Coke and lemonade. Oh, and Mt. Dew.”

“W-W-Water’s fine,” Marc manages to squeak out, ducking his face, which felt like as hot as a furnace.

“Okay. I’ll be back in a minute, then,” he hears Nathaniel say.

Only when the redhead is out of sight and earshot, does Marc bury his face in his hands and scream, just a little.

* * *

Four:

* * *

“Why is it raining _today_ , of all days…?” Nathaniel bemoans to Marc, who joins him in shoving into the school’s entryway, escaping the downpour outside. “It’s been hot as all hell for the past few days, and it decides to rain _now_?”

“Well, the rain should help cool things down, shouldn’t it?” Marc offers, bemused as he watches the shorter boy grumble and stomp his shoes against the mat at the school’s entrance, closing up his umbrella.

“It’s almost Summer, though. You’d think there wouldn’t be as many Springtime showers,” the redhead points out, jerking his head to move his bangs out of his face. “There could’ve been a little more warning…”

“You still brought your umbrella, though,” Marc points out, trying to keep positive and finding the other’s grouchiness a little funny. “So, it could be worse…”

“Bringing an umbrella doesn’t help with _this_!” Nathaniel cries, aggressively gesturing to his shoes, which were colored dark with water and obviously soaked through. “Getting to school with all those puddles was like trying to cross the Red Sea, I swear…”

“Sorry, can’t relate,” Marc shrugs, giggling a bit at the flat look the redhead shoots him.

“Of _course_ you wouldn’t, Mister Wears-Boots-Every-Day,” Nathaniel grumbles with a pout, still trying to kick at the mat in an obsolete effort to dry his shoes faster. “Seriously, you don’t even need to bother with rain boots, do you? Your combat boots are good enough for this type of shit.”

“It’s why they call them combat boots, ‘cuz they help _combat_ terrible terrain,” Marc chirps, smiling innocently at his friend, who stares back at him with a look of pure betrayal.

“Marc. Marc, _no_ ,” Nathaniel groans behind his hand. “Marc, that was _so bad_.”

“I have no idea what you mean,” he replies lightly, with a smile, moving on with, “Anyways, we still have some time before Homeroom starts. Maybe you can get some paper towels to help dry your shoes out?”

“Actually? That’s a good idea,” the redhead nods, looking down at his feet with a grimace. “My socks are soaked through too, and it feels _terrible_.”

“Big Oof.”

* * *

Marc ends up leaning against one of the sinks in the boy’s bathroom, watching as Nathaniel toes his shoes off and hops around, chucking his socks off as well.

“Here, I think you need these,” he offers, handing the shorter boy a stack of paper towels he robbed from the dispenser.

With a long-suffering look on his face, Nathaniel takes the paper towels, and starts stuffing them in his shoes. “Not sure how I’ll be able to walk around wearing wet socks, but I don’t really have a choice, I don’t think…” the other sighs, literally wringing out his socks in the open-lid trashcan. “It’s not like I have any other place to put them.”

“Your locker, maybe?”

“Okay, by why the _fuck_ would I stink up my entire locker with my wet socks?”

“Point,” Marc shrugs idly, eyes looking over at Nathaniel’s shoes, before wandering over to the boy’s uncovered feet.

Nathaniel was really short for a guy, barely scraping at 5’2, and he was downright petite to boot. Proportionally, it made sense if Nathaniel had small feet. Hell, Marc’s lined up his foot with Nathaniel’s to double-check once, and saw the obvious difference in shoe size for himself. He was just surprised that his combat boots didn’t completely dwarf the other’s shoes.

It was obvious Nathaniel wore shoes a size up, because his feet were _definitely_ smaller than what the shoes presented. Like the rest of the redhead’s skin, his feet were pale. They had little freckles dotting them, which was actually kind of cute?

Wait, how can someone’s feet be _cute_ …?! Oh God, _please_ don’t tell him he had a thing for feet, that’s just _beyond_ weird—

“Hey, can I get some more paper towels?” Nathaniel grunts, and the writer jolts, incredibly relieved to be distracted by his spiraling thoughts.

“Sure, I gotcha,” Marc says, quick to rip more paper towels from the dispenser and step over to the redhead to hand them over. “Here, I think this’ll be enough.”

“I hope so. I hate the thought of walking around with damp socks and shoes, but that might be the best-case scenario,” the other sighs, wrinkling his nose. The motion subtly shifts the map of freckles across his face.

Nathaniel crouches, pulling up the ends of his skinny jeans slightly to furiously rub down his feet.

Oh. Ankles.

…Didn’t Marc make a joke to himself about needing a fainting couch if he saw an ankle?

He leans heavily against the sink from before, his mind flashing a vivid daydream of running teeth up that ankle, following up the inside of Nathaniel’s leg. He clutches spasmodically at the porcelain basin behind him, breath hissing through his teeth. Diagonally from him, the mirrors of the bathroom damningly show that his face is the same pink as his lip-gloss and is rapidly morphing into the color of his hoodie.

Okay. So. Good thing? He doesn’t have a thing for feet. He just has a Thing for any bit of Nathaniel’s uncovered skin. Which his mind latches onto and runs away with in the most insane ways possible, apparently.

He presses a fist to his mouth and prays Nathaniel doesn’t notice his embarrassment and start asking difficult questions.

“Ugh, I _hate_ being so short. My legs aren’t nearly long enough to get me across _anything_ when it rains,” Nathaniel groans, glaring down at his crumpled socks like they’ve done him a personal wrong. “I _swear_ , I’m going to get back home and drag in half the rainwater with me.”

“Can’t relate,” Marc mutters.

“Laugh it up, why don’t you? Mister I’m-A-Respectable-Height-And-I-Wear-Combat-Boots.”

“I’m not laughing,” Marc retorts quickly. No doubt a bit _too_ quickly, because when he glances over, Nathaniel is giving him a flat look. The fact that he’s still pink in the face probably also doesn’t help.

“I might just steal your shoes from you, and _then_ we’ll see who’s laughing…” comes the dark mutter.

“You wouldn’t be able to walk in my boots. You’d trip over yourself,” Marc snorts, giggling at the exaggerated, angry pout on the other’s face. “They’re like a good four sizes bigger than what you wear!”

“I could wear them!”

“They’re size _tens_ , Nathaniel.”

The redhead pauses, squinting down at Marc’s feet, taken aback. “Holy shit, are they really?”

Marc shrugs, slipping his thumbs into his pockets and smiling amusedly. “I wear a size up, but yeah. I don’t have tiny baby feet like you.”

Nathaniel sputters. “Fuck you, I wear sevens!”

“You also obviously wear a size up, since your shoes are longer than your feet actually are, but nice try,” Marc drawls with a beatific smile. He quickly dodges the soggy ball of paper towels chucked at him in retaliation. “ _Ew_! Didn’t you use those to wipe your feet with?!”

“Yeah, my—what was it again? My _tiny, baby chicken’s feet_?” Nathaniel drawls, smirking.

“I didn’t mention anything about a chicken, firstly.” Marc raises his hands, both in a calming motion, and as a shield in case the redhead decided to try another shotput. “Second, you _do_ have tiny baby feet. I’m sorry you had to learn this way—”

“Please kindly fuck off.”

Marc snorts, finding himself doubled over giggling. Soon enough, Nathaniel’s laughing with him, the two overcome with a bout of sudden laughter.

Maybe it was just the ridiculousness of everything—the situation itself, and the joking banter. Of pretty much locking themselves in the bathroom and shoving half an industry-size pack of paper towels into Nathaniel’s shoes to get them to dry faster before they had to go to Homeroom in fifteen minutes.

Things were always a bit strange at their school, but these past few minutes were their own brand of weird. A self-made little adventure. Nothing to write home about, and probably forgotten in a few weeks, but fun and light regardless.

“Alright, alright. Sorry for throwing stuff at you,” Nathaniel says, after his laughter dies down.

“And I’m sorry you have such small feet,” Marc nods solemnly.

“Gee, _thanks_.”

“Don’t worry. Short kings are all the rage nowadays. There’s a song and everything,” he encourages innocently as he pushes off the sink.

“What would I ever do without your friendship,” Nathaniel deadpans, face completely flat. Marc snickers, watching as his crush aggressively wrangles his socks onto his feet.

“Walked around in soaking shoes and socks?”

“I mean, my socks and shoes are still humid, and they feel _totally_ gross to wear again…” Nathaniel sighs, sticking his tongue out. Marc was reminded vividly of a fox making a ‘blep’. “But I think I’ll live.”

“Then I guess I’ll see you after school then…?” Marc asks, just for confirmation, holding the bathroom’s door open for the other. Nathaniel is quick to toe his shoes back on properly, stepping towards him.

“Yeah. Now go on, go to your Homeroom, Size Tens,” the redhead teases with a small, crooked grin.

“Well,” Marc starts, the words slipping out before he could stop them, “you know what they say about big feet.”

A beat passes.

Marc turns right on his heel when he realizes what he’d just said, and speed-walks away, before Nathaniel can say anything in response.

* * *

The writer makes his was down the hallway to his Homeroom, head ducked down to hide his embarrassed expression, internally bemoaning how much of an utter gay disaster he was.

Seriously…?! Using that joke about big feet?!

And, oh God, now he was thinking about Nathaniel’s feet again—

His brain needs to _stop_. That saying, it’s just a joke, right…? Shoe size didn’t correlate perfectly with…well…

Never mind! It was too embarrassing to think about anyways…!

* * *

Five:

* * *

Art Club hours are officially over for the day.

While Mr. Carracci is a kind and helpful teacher who is happy to have the room open for them, he still gently ushers the two teens to pack up and start heading home.

With a shared sheepish look, Marc and Nathaniel decide that if they’re being kicked out, they should probably call it quits. After all, they’ve got a lot of work done today, and they don’t want to be a bother to the man. Their teacher waits patiently for them to pick up their things and clean up after themselves with an almost knowing smile on his face. He bids them a good day with a fond smile.

“They say it’s a record high today, boys. Try to keep hydrated, okay?” the older man advises, in a startlingly paternal way.

“We will, Mr. Carracci,” Nathaniel nods, smiling at the man.

“Thank you, sir,” Marc adds, with a little wave and smile as they part ways with the teacher.

* * *

The two make their way down the hall, down the stairs, and towards the nearest exit. When they open the double doors, the heat hits them like a physical, oppressive force.

“It’s hot as _balls_ outside, dude,” Nathaniel groans, already wiping at his forehead with the back of his sleeve, grimacing.

“Yeah, I guess,” Marc shrugs, squinting at the concrete and tarmac nearly bleached white from the sunlight beating down on it. He swears he can see the air waver from the heat itself.

When he glances back over to Nathaniel, his crush is in the middle of shucking off his sports jacket.

Marc can’t help but stare.

For as long as he’s known Nathaniel Kurtzberg, he’s _always_ worn a sports jacket. Always. Marc can even tell the difference between the three different gray sports jackets he wears, almost all identical except for the specific shades of gray.

Nathaniel wears a jacket unfailingly, like how Marc wears hoodies. Except now the redhead has abandoned his jacket completely, slinging it over his bookbag propped against his hip.

The first thing that Marc notes is his arms. Just. His _arms_. Not even just his wrists or a tiny bit of forearm, his _entire arms_ are just. They’re just _there_. Out in the world, for Marc to see.

It’s not like it’s anything particularly crazy or anything. Nathaniel’s wearing a band t-shirt. His arms are uncovered a normal amount in said shirt. Nothing weird or out of the ordinary.

And yet Marc’s mind was whirring a mile a minute.

His eyes drank in the sight of the pale arms covered lightly in freckles, like the stars dotting the night sky. There weren’t as many freckles as the ones on Nathaniel’s face—the map of freckles across his cheeks and nose morphing as Summer approached and the sun helped dust more onto the skin there—but there was a distinct contrast between his forearm and the paler skin of his inner arm.

Nathaniel also had fuzz on his arms, the red hairs almost blending in with the freckles there. Marc is so incredibly charmed, he finds himself admitting they’re nice arms.

And it’s not just his crush talking. Really! He swears! It’s just… Marc’s own arms are very uninteresting and plain in comparison. How is he ever going to compare with Nathaniel’s _freckles…_? Seriously. Enough said.

“How are you not sweating up a storm right now?” the other demands, looking over at Marc incredulously. Marc blinks, snapping himself out of his trance and following the other down the sidewalk and towards the subway station. “You’re wearing your usual hoodie and everything! Aren’t you dying in it?”

“Not really…?” Marc admits, smiling slightly at the baffled look on the other’s face.

“Seriously, you barely look bothered at all! What the hell? That’s totally not fair,” the redhead says with a pout. “You’re not feeling overheated, even a _little_?”

“Oh, I don’t get hot,” he shrugs, languidly shoving his thumbs in his pockets. “It’s all for the aesthetic, anyways. I’m used to wearing black, and layers, and stuff. Sometimes even leather. I’m pretty much low-key baking in multiple layers all the time.”

Nathaniel eyes him incredulously, looking mildly impressed even as he slowly asks, “Then do you ever _not_ have your hoodie on…?”

“Nope,” he says, popping the ‘p’.

What Marc doesn’t say is that his anxiety is the main driving force for why he almost never takes off his hoodie. His brain always tells him to cover up, that no one wants to see his skin, he’s weird and ugly and has strange proportions. At this point, constantly wearing his hoodie is sort of half a fashion statement, and half a security blanket.

“Huh. So you don’t stop wearing it?” Nathaniel asks, with a small smile. “ _Ever_?”

“I really don’t. It’ll change my brand,” Marc says jokingly.

“Didn’t realize hoodies were so punk-rock,” the redhead snorts, smile turning teasing. “Especially _red_ hoodies.”

Marc can’t help the giggle that slips from his lips. “Again, it’s part of my brand,” he answers with an exaggerated shrug. “Punk doesn’t have to be all black _all_ the time. That gets boring.”

“And if you do, then there’s a bigger chance of you being mistaken for an emo kid, right?” Nathaniel teases, elbowing at Marc’s arm slightly.

Marc jolts at the contact. Even with the layer of his hoodie in the way, his skin feels like it’s on fire.

“Bold words coming from someone who has a hallmark emo hairstyle,” Marc retorts, feeling just a bit cheeky. “But go off, I guess.”

The redhead sputters, cheeks flushing pink. It takes him a few seconds of opening and closing his mouth again before he gets out, “I—Okay, it’s true, but you didn’t have to _say_ it.”

“I personally think I was justified in saying it.”

“I—alright, listen. Listen, I like my hair, okay?”

“And you should! It’s a good look on you,” Marc is quick to defend, not completely thinking through the implications of his admittance until a long silence falls between them.

Nathaniel stares back at him, uncovered blue eye wide, lips parted in surprise. Marc wants to take the words back—pluck them straight from the air—feeling horribly exposed.

Oh God. Did he really just admit that…? What if—what if Nathaniel _knows_ , now? What if he realizes Marc has a crush on him, and decides that he can’t work on the comic anymore, and then—

“Oh. Wait, um. You—you think so?” Nathaniel asks shyly, peering intently at Marc through his lashes, a hand raised to fiddle with his long bangs. His hand and arm stand out against the pink flush of his face.

Marc’s mouth feels dry, and nervous sweat beads at his hairline. He’s not sure what answer to give that would be the ‘correct’ one. He feels like he’s perched on a tightrope over a chasm. One wrong move, and he’ll tumble into its depths.

So the writer turns his gaze to the sidewalk in front of them, going for casual and probably falling short. “W-well,” he starts, trying to valiantly fight down a blush. “I-I think it, um. It s-suits you.”

Carefully looking at his crush through the corner of his eye, Marc watches as Nathaniel ducks his head, a smile visible on his face.

“I…Thanks,” Nathaniel says quietly, bashfully. “I never know…well. Mom always complains ‘bout how I look like some sort of sheepdog, and my sister teases that I look like I bleed Fall Out Boy lyrics, or something.”

Marc’s heart pangs with sympathy.

He has a lot of things he could tell Nathaniel—about being true to yourself, and being proud of who you are, and not letting others bully you into conforming—but it’s all too heavy and too heartfelt and too personal to say right now.

Instead, he simply says, “You know, you don’t have to get a haircut if you don’t want to…”

He looks over at Nathaniel, who after a beat, raises his head and grins over at Marc. “Yeah. I know,” the other says, voice full of gratitude. “Thanks.”

The two smile at each other, before they turn their attention to the subway entrance that looms in the near distance.

* * *

The ensuing hubbub of entering the subway station and buying their tickets is enough of a distraction that Marc forgets all about his crush and his disaster gay tendencies, until they get on the subway itself.

Then, the universe conspires against him once again.

The two teens are forced to stand next to each other and share a handle, the train car too packed to find a seat, or even afford them room to grab separate handles. Marc is treated to an eyeful of Nathaniel’s arm from up close, in all its freckled glory. He’s mesmerized, finding himself trying to map out constellations on the other’s skin, only managing to half-listen to his crush talk about something-or-other. Something about comics?

He’s relieved that he can blame the flustered flush on his face with the heat of the packed space. And can get away with just nodding and making interested noises as Nathaniel goes into a gushing rant about—Spiderman. That was it, he was talking about Spiderman.

Marc dazedly wonders if his crush has morphed into a completely different beast altogether, because this was starting to get more ridiculous than normal…

He was screwed.

* * *


	2. Plus One (+1)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again! Sorry for the very late second chapter.
> 
> I ended up writing another version of this first, but it ended up being 10k and seemed to fit more for being published as a standalone one shot.
> 
> This chapter focuses on the Art Club. It's got more characters in play, but the bulk of the attention is how the boys interact.
> 
> I'm happy to bring you all chapter 2: Nathaniel Kurtzberg is in love with Marc and thirsts over him for 4.5k words

* * *

“This feels like child labor,” Alix deadpans as the Art Club paints a portion of the hallway outside Room 33.

“Think of it as a learning experience,” Mr. Carracci says, pouring white paint from the bucket into Marc’s paint tray. “When you go to university for an art degree, you’ll have to paint plenty of walls. This also shows that in many spaces for art, a lot of maintenance goes on behind the scenes.”

“ _Still_ feels like child labor.”

“Alix, there’s literally ten of us doing this at once. Stop acting like you’re the only one,” Nathaniel sighs, shaking his head.

Juleka and Rose were together as always, with Rose crouching to paint the bottom portion of their section as Juleka took the upper one. Marinette was paired with Nino, the half-Chinese girl taping off the corners of the electrical sockets and doorway before Nino painted close to the edges. Max was holding the paint tray for Kim and pointing out spots the jock missed.

Marc awkwardly holds the paint tray by Nathaniel’s side. “I wish I didn’t wear all black during this…”

Nathaniel smiles back sympathetically at his partner. “No one knew we were touching up walls today. I think your punk-rock fashion can be forgiven.”

Nathaniel himself took off his sports jacket, not willing to get it full of paint. His skinny jeans and band t-shirt? Eh. It’s fine if they got dirty. But he only had three of his sports jackets, and they were all different shades of grey. One of them getting permanently stained would throw his entire system out of sorts.

Nathaniel felt Marc’s piercing stare on him. No doubt the writer was trying to commit how to paint walls in his memory. Nathaniel felt himself straighten up a bit under Marc’s gaze, and he tried not to preen.

Marc watched him a lot. Usually when Nathaniel was working on his art. It’s the fascination of someone who isn’t an artist watching an artist work. It still makes Nathaniel giddy every time it happens. He blames his crush for that.

The Art Club paints the hallway for a few minutes, chattering to each other all the while.

Alix talks to their teacher about the Louvre, still looking grumpy, but she doesn’t make another complaint. Rose is giggling at her girlfriend, the taller girl trying to wipe away a spot of paint on Rose’s cheek. Nino and Marinette are joking around and regaling a fascinated Max a story about Kim doing something stupid when they were younger—much to Kim’s dismayed, flushed face and Max’s crooked grin.

Nathaniel and Marc don’t really talk, comfortable in one another’s presence and mutual silence. They just stand and listen to the others’ conversations as they work, sharing bemused grins every once in a while at how lively their friends are.

That’s one of the things Nathaniel really likes about Marc, actually. He’s okay with them spending time in silence, and the silence is rarely weird or uncomfortable. They were just…familiar.

“There we are…! We got that painting done in no time,” Mr. Carracci nods, smiling at the rest of the club. “See, us all working together reduced the time it took and the amount we all had to do. Good job, team!”

The rest of the Art Club smile at one another, a feeling of accomplishment settling over them.

Except for, seemingly, Alix. “I demand compensation for my work,” the short girl says, crossing her arms. “At least one popsicle or ice cream.”

“Yeah, ice cream!” Kim whoops, thrusting a fist in the air. The same fist with a dripping paintbrush in it.

“Kim…!” Max yelps, stumbling away from the tall boy to avoid the dripping paint.

Nathaniel watched with wide eyes as Max jerked his paint tray to the side… sending paint right at Marc’s back and side.

The writer _shrieks_ , jumping in place. That causes the paint to slosh out of the tray in Marc’s own hands, landing down his black skinny jeans and on his shoes. “FUCK!”

Everyone seemed to freeze and place and gape at what just happened.

“Oh no,” Max says quickly, eyes wide behind his glasses. “Marc, I—I’m _so_ very sorry.”

Marc stands rooted on the spot, emerald eyes blown wide, white paint slowly dripping down his body. His eyes gleam with pure mortification, a subtle sheen of tears swimming there.

Nathaniel gently takes the tray from Marc’s hands—making sure more paint wasn’t going to splatter him. He sets the tray and brush down on the tarp, and carefully takes Marc’s arm—the one not covered in paint.

“I’m getting paper towels,” he tells Marc, trying to snap him out of it. “Just stand here, okay?”

“O…Okay…” Marc says, still in shock, his voice trembling slightly.

“I’m sorry, dude! Lemme help!” Kim splutters out, dropping his brush on the tarp and joining Nathaniel to dart into the Art Room to grab paper towels.

* * *

It takes a bit of fussing and a lot of paper towels, but soon enough the Art Club’s helped clean Marc up, as well as scooped up the materials on the tarp.

Kim and Max haven’t stopped apologizing for their accident. Marc forgave them quickly—of course he would, he’s _Marc_ —but it was obvious that everyone still felt bad.

The shoes were quickly salvaged. The pants were a little tricky, but the splatter stains were faint after Marc used some paper towels. The droplets could either be washed out in the laundry, or were just plain unnoticeable they wouldn’t be distracting.

During the entire debacle, Marc even took off his jacket—the main article of clothing that took the greatest hit. Almost half of it was covered in white paint.

“This was the only plain black jacket that I owned…” the writer mutters as he holds up the clothing in front of him to survey it sadly.

Nathaniel wanted to say something comforting. Really, he did. But he was distracted by Marc. More specifically, Marc’s _arms_.

It was…more skin than Nathaniel was used to seeing, after only seeing Marc’s face and hands.

Marc has very tan, very nice arms. Wow, were they nice arms. Who’d even think that Marc would have nice arms…? Nathaniel certainly didn’t.

Then again, he’s also not exactly sure what he was expecting. It’s not like he’s ever seen Marc out of a hoodie at all before today…

“I’m sorry this happened Marc,” Mr. Carracci sighs, as if the entire weight of the disaster was on his shoulders. Nathaniel snaps out of his daydreaming. “But, well, let’s try and keep things positive, yes? You got your shoes and jeans cleaned up, and ah…Let’s say that your jacket now looks like it has _character_.”

Marc blinks back at the art teacher, dark lashes fluttering. “Uh…character?”

“Yes,” the man nods, smiling awkwardly. “It looks very, hm. Aesthetic?”

Marinette, ever the one to jump in to make the best of any situation, agrees. “Yeah, it does! Only half of it got paint on it, so it looks intentional.”

“I think it’s kinda cool,” Juleka mutters in agreement next to her girlfriend. Rose bounced on her toes, nodding along as well.

“Super punk rock!” the tiny blonde squeaks.

“I think you can pull it off, bro,” Nino says, with a cheesy thumbs up.

Nathaniel finally finds his voice. “It…It sort of looks like a Reverser hoodie now, right?” he asks awkwardly, smiling over at his comic partner. “You just need to match the white on the front.”

“Maybe you can finish it up with some white fabric paint!” Marinette suggests, placing a hand on Marc’s shoulder and smiling wide. “That way, you’ve turned your hoodie into something new!”

Marc gives a bright and slightly wobbly smile back at the rest of the club members. “You…You think so?”

“Sure do!” the half-Chinese girl nods. “I can help recommend some fabric paints, too, if you’d like? Oh, and some paint sealer, since the paint on your jacket is industrial and acrylic-based paint, which tends to dry on fabrics. Usually you have to either seal your acrylics or use actual paint made for fabrics…”

Nathaniel watches as Marinette babbles to Marc excitedly, the writer smiling tentatively at the girl and looking much happier than before. The redhead can’t help his own relieved smile spreading on his lips.

“Why don’t we end the hard day on a positive note? I’ll buy you all those popsicles you wanted,” Mr. Carracci tells the Art Club.

Kim and Alix instantly whoop, Nino and Rose also cheering along. Juleka gives an exasperatedly fond smile at her girlfriend. Max has a similar expression, smiling softly up at Kim, who’s as dense as a rock and doesn’t notice.

Nathaniel gathers his things, his sports jacket draped over his bookbag, and walks up to Marc. The artist gestures to the jacket in the other’s hands. “You should probably keep that and not wear it again, or you’ll get paint all over your backpack when we go get those popsicles.”

“You’re right,” Marc says quietly, cheeks flushed a pretty pink color. “If I get it on my backpack, I’ll look like I fought a paint bucket and lost…”

Nathaniel finds himself laughing. “Hey, that’d be a look, though! You’d make it work.”

“Y-You think…?” Marc asks, hunching down and looking up at Nathaniel through his long lashes. The redhead finds his breath catching.

God, why was Marc just so…so _adorable_? It wasn’t fair. Be still, his beating heart.

“I mean,” Nathaniel starts, tongue feeling awkwardly clumsy in his mouth, “You’d probably look good wearing anything, honestly?”

Marinette giggles. Nathaniel startles, head whipping over to goggle at her. Fuck. He forgot that Marinette had been talking to Marc before and was standing _right there_.

“You know, I might just steal you two away to model some clothes for me someday,” the half-Chinese girl says, eyes glittering as she looks between the comic-making duo.

“M-Model? Oh no—I d-don’t think—” Marc splutters out, face flushing darker, waving a hand about himself wildly.

“Don’t you think Marc would make a good model, Nathaniel?” Marinette asks Nathaniel innocently, and oh. So _that’s_ her play.

“ _Damn you Marinette…you’re too clever for your own good, you know that?!_ ” Nathaniel thinks, feeling himself sweat.

Nathaniel darts his gaze over at Marc. Marc stares back at him, looking like a deer caught in headlights.

Then Nathaniel does the most _stupid fucking thing possible_ , darting his eyes down to take in Marc from head to toes.

His face feeling warm, he manages to get a strangled, “Yeah. Y-you’d uh. You’d look good. As a model.” He instantly wants God to strike him down where he stands, but no. That’s not an option.

“Oh,” Marc squeaks back, face red and eyes blown wide.

Oh God. Ohhhhh God, he _knows_ now, doesn’t he…? Fuck. Nathaniel’s fucked up. Oh fuck.

“We’re not coming back to this room, so please get all your things ready…!”

The redhead nearly collapses on his knees to thank Mr. Carracci for saving him.

When he looks over at the man, the art teacher raises a bushy eyebrow back at him, looking wholly amused and knowing. Ah. So even _Mr. Carracci_ knows now.

Great. Just how many people knew about Nathaniel’s crush on Marc…?! He hasn’t even had it for very long, damn it!

Nathaniel ducks his head and speed-walks his way over to Alix, ignoring her pointed smirk so he can scream internally for the next ten minutes.

* * *

Nathaniel has another bisexual crisis because of Marc, while the Art Club goes to get popsicles at the nearby park.

He hasn’t had his crush on Marc for long. Like, less than a month. And this isn’t the first crisis he’s had.

It also probably won’t be the last, either.

It’s just…Nathaniel got along well with Marc. Like, super well. And at first, he thought that meant they clicked well as friends.

They did. Nathaniel could confidently say that Marc was one of his best friends. But there was just something _else_ about him that ended up catching more and more of Nathaniel’s attention. Nathaniel thought his awkwardness and the way he stuttered and blushed was charming. And then _charming_ became _charming and cute_.

Nathaniel can’t name a single, big reason of why he has a crush on Marc. Not really. It’s just been a build-up of little things, of time spent together and Nathaniel finding himself enjoying spending time with Marc so much that he never wanted to stop. His laughter getting brighter and longer and louder when it was with Marc. The way that Marc’s shy and sweet smiles got his stomach fluttering.

But if Nathaniel was going to pick a day or time that served as a tipping point—that helped him realize his feelings—it was probably the day that Marc said he liked Nathaniel’s hair.

Dumb and pretty insignificant, in hindsight. But at the time, it…It’d meant a lot to Nathaniel. He was feeling a little insecure about himself, and Marc was just. Was so sweet and honest.

Nathaniel remembers that day well enough. He remembers it was baking hot outside. Remembers taking off his jacket, feeling Marc’s eyes on him. Doesn’t remember what they were even talking about, only knowing that he was bantering with Marc and enjoying just talking with him. Then Nathaniel’s hairstyle came up. Marc calling it emo, teasing him gently. Then saying something like, “it’s a good look”, and Nathaniel just feeling so _shocked_ to hear that.

People usually notice his hair because of the natural red color first. Then they notice his hair because of its style. And because of the long bangs that hid half his face, well, most didn’t exactly have positive things to say about it…

Chloe’s mocked him for his hair more times than he can count. De Grammont has definitely used it against him. Kim’s even made comments about it.

Even when they’re made by his friends, those comments…didn’t _hurt_ , per se, but they weren’t exactly boosting his confidence either. Plus, his family regularly asks him if he’s going to cut or restyle his hair, in that way that fussy family members do…

So, Nathaniel never really had anyone flat-out tell him they like his hair. He’d shared an acknowledging and quiet nod with Juleka over it when they first met, but as they were both too awkward and shy to really compliment each other, that was the extent of it.

And then Marc tells Nathaniel he likes it. He likes Nathaniel’s hair style. Even in that awkward and stuttery way of his, obviously flustered by complimenting him, Marc was still painfully sincere.

“ _You know, you don’t have to get a haircut if you don’t want to…_ ”

Those words just cemented it, really. Cemented the fact that…that Nathaniel didn’t have to change his hair. Or change himself.

Marc liked him for who he was.

And that knowledge just sort of…settled and soothed something in Nathaniel. While at the same time, it awoke a flurry of butterflies in his stomach. Cue Nathaniel hopelessly crushing on his comic partner, who was also one of his closest friends.

It would just be awkward, though, wouldn’t it…? Trying to date Marc if Marc doesn’t even like him back, only agreeing out of obligation because they’re friends. Or worse yet, them dating for real, and then having problems and breaking up.

Their friendship and partnership would be completely ruined regardless. The thought hurt. It made Nathaniel hesitate.

So he’s just been gushing like a bi disaster to Alix and stuck to pining. He pined harder than a professional fucking pine tree ready for the holidays.

He was apparently not being as secretive about his pining over Marc as he’d thought, because Marinette and Mr. Carracci definitely know…And maybe even Marc knows too…

He was screwed.

* * *

“Eaaaarth to Nath! Yoohoo! C’mon, space case!”

Nathaniel blinks, shaking his head.

Oh. They were in the park. In front of a manned frozen treats cart. Whoops. He really zoned out there, huh...?

Alix clucks her tongue at him, finally removing her hand from in front of his face. “You’re hopeless. Pick your popsicle already.”

“U-Uh, sorry. St-Strawberry, please,” Nathaniel mutters out, ducking his head, his face feeling like it was on fire.

He takes the popsicle, quick to unwrap it and lick it.

Oh, wait a second…He’s bought one of these before. With Marc, once, right? Before he can really stop himself, Nathaniel’s gaze wanders across the group. He skips past Juleka and Rose offering each other a taste from their popsicles, and Max giving a smitten look at Kim while he eats his own popsicle, eyes instantly honing in on Marc.

The writer was standing next to Marinette, a blue popsicle in his hand. The girl was telling him something in an undertone. The writer’s face was pink, and he looked embarrassed.

For no discernable reason, the thought that Marc was too adorable for his own good hit him like a punch to the gut. The redheaded artist starts to daydream, as he did frequently over his crush. His licks slow as his attention wanders.

Even from this distance, Nathaniel can take in Marc’s hoodie-less form. How he looked so much leaner without it wrapping him up. His arms stood out, all tanned skin, and just. Marc’s _arms_.

And then Nathaniel feels someone elbow him in the side. Cutting his gaze to glare over at Alix, the girl leans in and whispers, “Please don’t tell me you’re trying to seduce Marc right now.”

“I—Wha—I _wasn’t_!” he hisses back.

“Dude, you were staring over at him with bedroom eyes and licking your popsicle like you wanted… _Y’know_ ,” Alix says, raising a brow pointedly and smirking.

Nathaniel feels his face burn. “You’re disgusting. And you call _me_ horny.”

“Listen, I just call it like I see it.”

“Fuck off.”

“Personally, I think _you_ should be fucking off and talking to Marc,” Alix says, voice even and a smarmy smirk on her face. “Maybe even asking him to—”

The redhead is already walking away before Alix can end her statement, face warm and no doubt housing a red blush.

Nathaniel watches as Marinette elbows Marc in the side as he nears them. With the popsicle half in his mouth, Marc makes startled eye contact. And then he crunches on his popsicle.

Nathaniel finds himself automatically cringing. “Could you _not_ crunch your popsicle…?” the half-demand half-plea slips from his mouth

The writer just awkwardly stands there, frozen, for three seconds. And then he starts chewing on his popsicle like a goat would a tin can. “Sorry. Can’t hear you over the crunch,” the other states, dead serious.

Kim fucking loses it. “Bwahaha…! Marc actually chomped a popsicle!” the jock hoots. “ _Marc_. Dude, how d’you not get a brain freeze?!”

Marc just shrugs. “I don’t.”

“Your _teeth_ , bro,” Nino notes, horrified, amber eyes blown wide.

“Not my problem,” Marc replies seriously.

“Stone-cold,” Marinette shakes her head.

“The crunch is the best part.”

“You _heathen_ ,” Nathaniel says, horrified and delighted, while also ridiculously aching and fond.

“It’s not that big a deal?” Rose wonders, before she crunches her own popsicle without flinching, and the rest of the Art Club goes absolutely _batshit_. Juleka grins, wide and wild and obviously proud of her girlfriend.

Nathaniel sidles up to Marc while everyone else gathers around Rose. Nathaniel tries to go for casual, licking at his popsicle and side-eying Marc. Marc just licks at the rest of his popsicle languidly, sucking on the icy treat.

Nathaniel takes the time to survey the other. The way his pink lips faintly turn blue from the color of the popsicle. His messy hair slightly moving from the small spurts of a breeze. The length of his lashes from a profile view.

And then the artist’s eyes wander from Marc’s face, to the popsicle, down to his hand and arm.

The more that he’s noticing things, Nathaniel realizes that Marc’s arms are hairy. Which is…unexpected, almost. He wouldn’t think Marc would have hairy arms.

After all, Marc has a super pretty face that wouldn’t look out of place on a girl, but like. Marc’s got hairy arms. He’s not perfectly smooth and hairless like his pretty face, like what Nathaniel expected.

It takes him by surprise more than it really should, but honestly, Nathaniel’s entire family has lighter colored hair. He’s used to that. Used to body hair being barely noticeable. Hell, Alix is a natural sandy-blonde, and her dad and brother are brunettes.

But Marc’s body hair is very obvious, stark black against his skin. It’s no wonder it instantly catches Nathaniel’s attention.

And just…wow. Arms. Nathaniel never knew he’d be _so_ into someone’s arms before now.

“U-Um…Did I accidentally get paint somewhere else…?” Marc asks cautiously.

The redhead instantly snaps his attention away from Marc’s bare arms, up to the other’s face, feeling like a kid getting caught with their hand in the cookie jar.

“No! No, no, it’s…” Nathaniel quickly tries to reassure, his face warm. “You’re fine. Y-you didn’t get any paint anywhere else.”

Marc looks down at himself, turning this way and that. “A-Are you sure? Maybe more dripped down than I’d thought.”

Marc awkwardly turns, craning his neck to look down his own back. Nathaniel’s eyes instantly rove down his back and down to his—

Okay, so Marc didn’t exactly have much going on in his trunk, but his skinny jeans _did_ help make his butt look cute and perky, Nathaniel will admit.

Wait, he just checked out Marc’s butt right in front of him. Fuck. Abort, abort.

“You look good to me,” Nathaniel says in a strangled voice.

Marc’s cheeks flush a dark pink, and he bites at his bottom lip. Nathaniel feels his stomach doing a gymnastics routine.

“S-Sorry, it’s just—I don’t, uh, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you out of your hoodie before today…?” the redhead awkwardly says, trying to cover up his guilty actions.

The writer hums, a hand up to fiddle with his choker, the other arm wrapping around himself. “N-No, I…I guess you haven’t…”

“I mean, I was wondering when it’d happen,” Nathaniel states. Then backpedals frantically with, “Not that there’s anything wrong with you always wearing a jacket! I mean, I really can’t say anything, since I wear one most of the time too. But I just—I dunno. I guess I’m a little relieved you’re not going to get heat stroke, and you feel comfortable enough not to wear one around us? Is that weird to think? That’s probably weird.”

Instead of further putting his foot in his mouth, Nathaniel instead ducks his head and starts to suck on his popsicle. After a few seconds of trying to keep his popsicle from making a mess all over his hands, Nathaniel cautiously peers up through his lashes at Marc.

The writer was staring back at him, mouth chewing on the last of his popsicle. But his emerald eyes were soft as they met Nathaniel’s blue eyes in a steady gaze.

“I can always be myself around you,” the writer says softly, after a few seconds, still holding eye contact and cheeks flushed.

Nathaniel feels the breath being punched from his lungs. “Me too,” he admits quietly, face warm.

They just look back at one another. Like they’re suspended in time. And they smile.

* * *

The quiet intimacy of their moment is interrupted by a call from Kim. “Yo, Nath! You gonna finish your popsicle or not?!”

The redhead jolts, whipping his head over to the rest of the club.

…Oh. He’d forgotten it wasn’t just him and Marc together in the park.

Considering the pointedly knowing looks almost the entire club were giving him and Marc, minus Kim himself… Yeah. They’d noticed. Nathaniel’s face feels like it’s on fire.

“Uhhhh…” he trails off awkwardly in a high voice.

Kim jogs up to them. “If you don’t want it anymore, I’ll take it—”

“Why would I give it to you?” Nathaniel asks quickly. “What if I wanted to give it to someone else?”

“Look, no one else is gonna eat it,” the jock starts, looking over at Marc. “Unless Marc wants it. Marc, you want Nath’s popsicle?”

“Yeah, Marc. You want it?” Alix calls, skating up to them with a shit-eating grin on her face. “Wanna have Nath’s popsicle?”

Nathaniel glares back at her with a look that he hopes perfectly conveys the sentiment of ‘ _Shut the fuck up Alix, or I’m going to kill you_ ’.

“Um,” Marc squeaks out. He’s beet-red in the face and looks distinctly mortified. The need to wring Alix’s neck hits Nathaniel harder.

“Kim, you can’t just demand someone’s popsicle from them,” Max sighs, walking up to them as well.

“I’m not _demanding_ it…!” Kim huffs back with a pout. “But Nathaniel’s not even eating it, so it’ll melt and go to waste! I’m just being pragmatic here.”

“Woooow, you actually know what pragmatic means?” Alix snorts. “I’m impressed.”

“Hey! I know what it means!” Kim states, pointing a finger in the short girl’s face. “Max helps me study! I’ve got an expanded vocabulary…!”

“Oh, I’m sure he liked helping _expand your vocabulary_ ,” Alix drawls, raising a brow and looking pointedly over at Max. Whose eyes widened, a blush darkening his cheeks.

“What does that mean, huh?! Max is a great tutor!” the jock says, defensive of the other boy. Max looks like a deer caught in headlights, his dark skin not hiding how a blush overtook his entire face. “He’s always happy to help me, and I’m always grateful that he’s got time to help me!”

Jesus Christ. Poor Max, being so smitten by someone as hopelessly oblivious and dense as Kim.

“Here, just take it already,” Nathaniel interjects, breaking into the conversation before Alix and Kim can spin their argument into some sort of dare. Or fistfight. Because Kim looked ready to throw down with Alix to ‘protect Max’s honor’ or something.

The redhead hands Kim his half-eaten popsicle. The jock instantly brightens, letting out a victorious cry, previous combativeness completely forgotten. “Yo, thanks!” the tall boy hums.

Alix shakes her head and sighs. “You’re hopeless.”

“I just got a second popsicle. I think I’m doing pretty good right now.”

Alix looks straight at Max and states, in total deadpan, “I’m _so_ sorry.”

Marc snorts, breaking out into giggles. Nathaniel finds himself laughing too.

“Huh…? Whaz sho funny?” Kim mutters around his popsicle.

The rest of the club start to laugh along as well, Kim standing with an expression of pure confusion on his face.

The artist looks over at his partner, noting the way Marc’s face brightened when he laughed so sweetly, the genuine joy in his eyes and the way he smiled.

Marc looks back at him and smiles softly. Fondly.

Maybe…He hasn’t been going crazy this entire time. Maybe Marc likes him back, too.

* * *

“ _I want you so much,_

_That I just can’t resist you…_

_Been going crazy,_

_From the moment I met you_.”

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nathaniel is a Bi Disaster for Marc, pass it on--
> 
> I don't think I managed to channel the same energy as Marc being a Gay Disaster. But it is what it is.¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> If you want to yell at me in the comments, feel free.


End file.
